


Quite The Pair

by xikra1648



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clueless Reader, F/M, Forensic Anthropologist Reader, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xikra1648/pseuds/xikra1648
Summary: You met Sherlock at work, not even noticing that the detective quickly bonded with you not only because you never judged him and had the patience of a saint, but because he was interested.  You fascinated him, you were odd, logical, and avoided most people like they were actually the plague.You had no idea he was actually interested.





	Quite The Pair

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know guys. I don't know.

# Quite The Pair

Sherlock paid attention to things he was interested in, everyone knew that, but not everyone knew how to spot what he was interested in.  There were his experiments, of course, his cases, his violin, the well-being of those he cared for, being a pain in his brother’s ass and…oh yeah-

_You._

You hadn’t the faintest clue, to be honest.  You thought you were normal enough, considering your career.  Forensic Anthropology did consist of a lot of science, a lot of history, and a lot of piecing skulls together-some of which belonged to victims of genocide or murdered children.  A case involving a long-decomposed child was exactly the one which led to your meeting Sherlock.  You had heard Molly speak of him, but as your career pulled you everywhere from the museum, New Scotland Yard, St. Bart’s, and _Africa_ you were never in one place for long enough to know everyone there.

_“The tissue samples and clothes are already in testing.  Dr. [L/N] had the bones cleaned and pieced together the skull,” Molly said as she walked with Sherlock into the lab you were working in, walking around the table which held the organized pieces of the victim’s skeleton.  Molly added as she opened the door, “She said that Charles-“_

_“The victim,” you corrected, “Never get attached to the victim, once you do you can no longer look objectively.”_

That comment was what caught Sherlock’s interest, simply because you _shouldn’t have made it._   You were two, maybe three, years younger than him which put you at the prime age to begin worrying about things like marriage and _children_.  You should have been heartbroken, even if you weren’t letting it effect your work, but instead you simply stalked around the lab table and observed, your brown boots making no noise against the floor as you walked.  You had clearly just been pulled into work and made no attempt to look impressive, wearing worn skinny-jeans that had certainly seen better days if the signs of wear on the form-fitting denim were any sign.  Your gray long-sleeve shirt would be left wrinkled on the sleeves based on how you simply pushed them up, and the blue cardigan and plaid scarf you had been wearing to stave off the early England autumn chill were placed by your purse.  Occasionally you would ever so delicately trace a latex-gloved finger down a bone, eyes critical with your hair kept out of your sharp eyes.

You surmised the boy was killed by a mixture of asphyxiation and the knee of his perpetrator pressed against his ribcage, crushing the small boy.  You listed off diseases the boy had in his living years, making the assailant’s murder all the easier, and welcomed Sherlock to see if he could catch anything you hadn’t already.  You had caught everything and, while some of it was information he was already well-aware of, the fact you had missed no little detail was no small feat.  It was easy to leave things out, especially when all you had was the victim’s bones, but you caught it all and welcomed him to find anything you hadn’t already.  You didn’t care about pride, professional or not, just finding answers.

Something Sherlock could respect, especially considering your line of work and competitive nature of your career.  He pulled you along on the case, much to John’s surprise, but it wasn’t long until you became a common visitor to 221B Baker Street. 

You yourself liked being around the boys, besides Molly they were the only ones who didn’t look at you like some heartless scientist piecing skulls together.  It was complete rubbish to think you weren’t bothered when the body of a child, whether killed in the current decade, last decade, or even centuries ago, didn’t kill a part of you inside.  You had just learned to set that part of you aside and, in the case of genocide victims and victims of war you identified, _used_ it to fuel you.  They deserved answers just as much as everyone else.  They deserved peace.

You would assist Sherlock in his experiments, helping sate his _immense_ curiosity, or just sit on the couch and read or do your own work.  On one such day, working on a report for an upcoming court case out of a murder investigation, Sherlock had disappeared to do…something and left you and John alone in the flat.

“He fancies you, you know,” John looked up from writing the latest case to update his blog.

“What?” you questioned, looking up from your latest research paper to give the other doctor, though wildly different kind of doctor, a simultaneously questioning and indignant look.  Sherlock was a brilliant and attractive man, and while he didn't understand human nature very well he would do anything for those he cared for.  You were fond of him, very fond of him actually, but you didn't think he took any notice of you beyond an acquaintance, let alone recognized that he might actually _fancy_ you.  Then again your self esteem was lower than anyone thought possible, so that probably had something to do with it.

“You didn’t notice,” John meant it as a jest, but when he saw you were still confused it turned into a question, “You _didn’t notice?”_

You took a breath to start defending yourself, but John never gave you the chance.

“He remembered your bloody birthday!”

“I thought he was just reminding me!”

“You forget your own birthday?” John couldn’t believe it.  You couldn’t actually-

“I know when it is, I just forget that there’s anything special about it when it comes around.  Kind of like how you remember the year changed all through January but the second February hits you’re writing last year’s date all over again,” you explained, in an attempt to defend yourself, “I have more important things to focus on than the fact that I lived another year.”

John just gaped at you, trying to figure out what you had just said, and honestly it was making you a bit uncomfortable before he finally spoke up.

“Well, you two make _quite_ the pair.”


End file.
